Wishful Sinful
by YasmimDeschain
Summary: A lovely moment between Anne Boleyn and Thomas Cromwell


**Author's Note: I write this suddenly, seriously. I just put The Doors and Jim's voice gave me this history. If you can read this hearing The Doors (you can find this on YouTube). I love unusual shippers, and on The Tudors, Anne Boleyn and Thomas Cromwell was my alternative favorite pairing. James Frain and Natalie Dormer have a fulminant chemistry, you can see it specially on season 2 episode 9, when Anne goes to discuss with Cromwell... God, at the end of the discussion they are so close...**

**Anyway, this is only based on the show, seriously. On this history Anne have blue eyes and Thomas too, they are based on James and Natalie and not on their real figures - whatever I love the real Anne, she was a great woman. Oh, and sorry by the mistakes on english language, I am brazilian!**

**And _I OWN NOTHING, THIS IS ONLY FAN MADE!_**

**Well, now... Let me put a smile on this face!**

* * *

_Wishful crystal_  
_Water covers everything in blue_  
_Cooling water_

_Wishful sinful_  
_Our love is beautiful to see_  
_I know where I would like to be_  
_Right back where I came_

_Wishful, sinful, wicked blue_  
_Water covers you_  
_Wishful, sinful, wicked you_  
_Can't escape the blue_

_Magic rising_  
_Sun is shining deep beneath the sea_  
_But not enough for you and me and sunshine_  
_Love to hear the wind cry_

The Doors - Wishful Sinful

* * *

_**Wishful Sinful**_

**I**

Cold. England was as cold as her soul. The trees were just naked. The snow involved the earth as an extensive white blanket that turned a boring and constant panorama.

The Court was so silent, so funereal. Everyone knew that something went badly on the throne. Another daughter woman, an miscarriage. And nothing seemed to announce that the so awaited heir man would arrive in fact. The fights were constant and intense between the king and Anne - Henry's lovers were usually the theme of the royal disagreements.

Then, because of all this, no matter how much the english winter was arduous and uncomfortable, she was out of the Court. She walked well sheltered on the gardens that before were exuberant and green and now they were as white plains because of the snow that felled before. She walked at random, lonely, letting the thoughts take her away.

Her thoughts were the only company that needed.

**II**

Dreamlike. It was the word for the atmosphere where he was. Cromwell went back to the Court, but he could not stop seeing the snow that still covered the great gardens.

Was funny as, after we grow, a lot of the thing that had enchanted him in the childhood had been forgotten. A lot of the simplicity that made the life beautiful had been buried by the concerns of adult's life.

He remembered Putney, where had been born. Remembered Thames in the winter. Remembered that the snow flakes falling seemed, for the little Thomas, white dancers. The thought evoked him a smile to the face.

He was submerged in sensations and memories, the winter forgotten because the warmth of the past involved him...

But he walked again. Everything was just memory now.

**III**

She missed the people that love. She only wanted Elizabeth. She wanted the moments amused with Mary and George. She wanted her life before being the royal uterus. She wanted that her smile can reach to the eyes and it didn't go as false decoration of the lips.

Without the ladies in waiting, the flatterers, the enemies or the family, she left the tears run. Didn't matter, now. Everyone were far. Now it was just Anne, the snow and the great garden.

She could cry. And he did.

The sadness gushed - the calm weeping changing in a captivating sob in few minutes.

**IV**

The snow hurried. Cromwell saw the first flakes reach his skin coat and then, the ground. And suddenly, the snow smoothly spilled out in all her delicacy. He staked. He extended the palm of the hand, saw the flakes reach her.

The flakes seemed the chubby dancers again, dressed in white. A strong breeze reached making him the flakes gyrate and seeming to bring a melancholic laughter of the winter. Even with the strong wind, he continued stopped. Seeing the flakes gyrate, seeing the ladies in miniature dance. They danced so sweetly...

**V**

She continued walking and crying. She moved forward against the winter wind, the snow flakes reaching her unprotected face - hadn't used cap because she hadn't waited the snow.

Suddenly, somebody entered in her vision field. A roar of happiness was almost emitted when confusing the blurry masculine picture, by the tears, with Henry.

He had come then to rescue her queen from the snow... But wasn't Henry. He was Cromwell. The king's detestable flatterer. He could not see her crying. Anne was turned to return.

**VI**

Anne Boleyn. The queen - or the prostitute, if you heard the scream of the english people that hated her because of Catherine's calvary - alone and crying. The slim and depressed woman's vision - so different from the smart and gypsy beautiful lover that she was in the beginning of the day towards the throne - removed him from the stupor.

She was turned, but he followed her. In another day, he would not at least see the woman. But today was a different day. He was somebody different. He walked towards her and soon reached her.

-Queen Anne - he say making a bow front of her - why you are alone outside?

**VII**

Suddenly, she was recomposed. When she noticed that he followed her, Anne stopped crying. Now, was the Queen Anne, again the exuberant woman that had conquered a king's heart and the throne of England with the machinations worthy of a man.

Therefore, he was making a bow and asking why she was out of the great castle.

- I ask you the same thing - she said.

- I am coming back from diplomatic commitments in the city, an encounter with the ambassadors of some countries. Her glance was sharpened. She evaluated him. He seemed true.

- Chapyus? - she asked, intrigued.

- No. He isn't a lot... Close of the king, since... - he was interrupted.

- Catherine was exiled and I arose to the throne. - she completed for him.

- They were ambassadors of smaller countries, that don't lodge with His Majesty.

She agreed quietly. Anne wanted to give a sardonic smile, because Cromwell still had to accomplish some smaller functions to guarantee his position close to the King.

- I am going back to carry the news to His Majesty - he explained.

- I am entering - she said. - I just decided to walk, alone. - didn't know why was explained to Cromwell, maybe just to he not ask again what she was doing there.

- If I can accompany you - he said. She looked at him with wrinkled face. Did Cromwell want a truce?

- All right, Mr. secretary - she spoke. Maybe she was willing the peace. Nor that it was just passenger.

**VIII**

She walked, he stayed respectfully distant. He wondered why proposed that they walk together, and didn't find answers, but maybe he just thought that could be worth some thing, to appease his problems with the queen and her family.

The snow falls stronger now and the wind had also intensified. And more than ever...

- They seem white dancers - he spoke aloud. The thought was just verbalized suddenly. Anne turned to him.

- Who? - she asked, intrigued.

He appeared to the air around them, intermixed by the snow flakes. She finally understood.

- Oh, yes - she smiled, and the expression brought her something of the golden beautiful from before - pretty metaphor, Mr. secretary. - the blue eyes seemed entertaining as the one of a child.

He gave her the usual discreet smile. He was now beside her.

- I remember one time on that the snow was still more beautiful and I stared her enchanted - she said. It was a surprising confession.

- I also remind.

She smiled entertaining.

- Mr. secretary, all your seriousness never allowed me think that you missed the childhood. - and she laughed. It was a crystalline and sincere laughter, without cruelty. He accompanied the laughter.

- The time carries our faces - he said.

- Truth - she smiled, but with melancholy.

They continued, silent again.

**IX**

She was so beautiful. The black hair, the blue eyes, the white skin as porcelain. She irradiated seduction, a sensual energy that filled out the atmosphere around. And Cromwell was slightly entangled in this flowed that came from the queen.

She placed the hand, protected by a wool glove, in his shoulder.

- Thank you by the company - the gratitude was sincere. She said staring deeply in Thomas' eyes.

He held her shoulder also. He approached, felling the heat of her body expanding towards to he. He looked at her, drinking each line of the thin and gypsy face, taking a bath in the blue light of the eyes of the majesty.

A curious servant's impertinent fingers dared to play her delicate lines. They explored the softness of the lady's skin calmly. She faced him silenced.

**X**

It was the winter, could not have another explanation. The cold made her want heat and company. The cold impeded her of fighting with Thomas. After all, he was beautiful in spite of his age... He was something sensual with his dangerous charm - the black hair and the blue eyes were very pleasant.

Were the cold and the desire that impelled her close to him. With delicate movements she approached of his body. They were centimeters one of the other.

**XI**

She was magnetic. Only this explained the wild need that he had to being close of her. He couldn't control and girded her waist. He couldn't control and placed his lips about her lips.

The wind and the snow seemed to gyrate around of the two.

**XII**

She didn't know if somebody see them. But she didn't think so, because the climate was cold and the great construction was distant. Then she surrendered to the moment: Forbidden, unbelievable and deep.

Her arms involved his neck, while he seemed want to arrest her for the waist. They kissed each other in an unusual way: There were despair and calm. Despair of the heat one of the other and calm for savor every minute.

**XIII**

He go away from her. Thomas Cromwell - no more the nostalgic man, but the rigid secretary on the king's service - was disentangled from Anne. He looked at her, without words. He made a bow and stood away, towards other end of the great garden.

**XIV**

She was just observing him, perplexed. But didn't follow him. She knew that it had been a crazy ravishment of both. None of them could at least dream about what had happened. It was just the winter.

**XVI**

Anne walked again. She went back for the Court. For her life, for her end. Cromwell's same end. But this moment was kept - something precious, although ephemeral and inexplicable.

The moment of weakness and redemption of two unhappy damned. The moment in that each one of them was a wishful sinful.


End file.
